


A Thousand Little Ways

by LadyLilyMalfoy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Agni Kai (Avatar), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Azula isn't as much of a dick as she usually is, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Ozai is more, Pre-Canon, Protective Azula (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilyMalfoy/pseuds/LadyLilyMalfoy
Summary: No-one thought the boy would survive the Agni-Kai. Even Iroh. Hope, after all, is not the same as belief.But that doesn't matter. From the moment he returned home from the abandoned siege, Iroh had pledged his life to saving his nephew in a thousand little ways.He isn't about to give up now.*A reimagining of the circumstances of Zuko's banishment
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 214





	1. No Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how many chapters this will be, but probably no more than three

No-one thought the boy would survive the Agni-Kai. Even Iroh. Hope, after all, is not the same as belief. 

It is burned in the back of his eyes, and he sees the imprint on every blink. The fear on Zuko’s face as his father advanced, the moment of misunderstanding mingled with relief when Ozai reached with an uncommonly gentle hand to cup the boy’s tear-stained face. The blaze of fire. 

Turning his face away and closing his eyes was not enough. Zuko’s scream would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. Worse, is the silence as they die and the stillness of the crowd who sit there and do nothing. 

Even Azula, who has been so smug right up until the final moment, has paled and stopped breathing, flinching as her brother falls like one of her broken dolls. Even she, in all her inhumanity, had never imagined that the raw extent of their father’s cruelty. And if Zuko dies, she will be left alone, with no-one else to conduct the brunt of the Fire Lord’s temper. 

Zuko has to survive.

_Zuko has to survive_. 

Iroh moves. 

Ozai considers the smoking body of his first born with the casual interest of one discovering a turtleduck shell, brushing off his hands and reaching once more for his discarded robe. Turning to walk away as though all is done and settled. Without a word of command to the healers who _have_ to be here, standing by, waiting as is customary in an Agni Kai. 

Then Iroh realizes there are no healers. There are no servants. There is no-one in this whole damned chamber either willing or able to help their prince. 

“Get out of my way,” he snarls, shoving through the clamor of confused bodies. 

There is only him. 

Damn it.

Damn them all. 

Ozai frowns as Iroh ascends the platform. “What are you doing?”

Iroh stoops over the child, crumpled and still. He was a soldier, a general, he is familiar with the smell of burning flesh. And he knows death when he sees it too. 

He sees it now. 

Zuko’s face is contorted in pain, bunched up as though contorted in a spasm. This cannot be his final expression. This cannot be the end of the only good thing to ever be born of this Agni-damned place. 

Iroh’s hand hovers and hesitates, but his makes himself smooth back the prince’s scorched hair. Zuko’s face is a mess. 

“Fetch a healer.”

Behind him, Ozai scoffs. “Don’t waste their time—”

“ _Fetch a healer!_ ” Through the smoke of the snarl, there is a scuffle as someone—thankfully, finally—obeys. Iroh might not be the Fire Lord, he might not even be a prince anymore, but he _still_ has authority. 

Even if his little brother thinks otherwise. 

They glare at each other, and Iroh more than half wishes that Ozai would say what he is so clearly thinking and challenge him once and for all. To hell with propriety. Any lasting semblance of respect burned away with the boy on the floor. 

_Give me a reason, I beg you_. 

But Ozai merely sniffs and turns. “You do him no kindness by saving him.”

When the Fire Lord leaves, so does the court. Azula lingers last, but Iroh has nothing to spare her. Finally, it is just him and Zuko. 

In the new silence of the chamber, there is just enough room to hear the faintest breath rattling in the prince’s chest. The palest spark of guttering life. Relief and fear clash and twist, and it’s all Iroh can manage not to throw up.

He clings to the good— _There is hope. The child lives—_ and shoves away the rest— _You do him no kindness. What kind of pain will he be in when he awakens? What kind of life awaits him on the other side of this? You do him no kindness by saving him._

Iroh doesn’t care about any of that. From the moment he arrived alone from the abandoned siege and saw the damage Ozai inflicted day to day on the boy abandoned by his mother, Iroh had pledged his time and energy to saving Prince Zuko in a thousand little ways.

He isn’t about to give up now. 

* * *

The healer comes and carries Zuko away. The boy is small in their arms, like a broken bird. Iroh follows closely despite their protests and assurances that the prince will be safe. The prince has never been safe in this place, and Iroh knows to whom the healers answer. 

Finally, they confess. 

The Fire Lord ordered them to do nothing. 

“We can make him as comfortable as possible, but—” They scatter in a burst of flames and fury. It isn’t their fault, Iroh knows this. They are all his brother’s prisoners here. 

In the bed at his back, Zuko coughs. Then he stirs and whimpers. 

Iroh cannot move fast enough. Not that he knows what he can do. The relief at the proof that Zuko lives is quickly squashed by the knowledge that it’s too soon, it’s too soon, please rest and heal a little longer before living in this world again, please give me time to know what to do—

Zuko’s eyes— _eye—_ springs open and the boy screams. 

His back arches, body contorting like he’s back on that platform beneath his father’s hand, like the flames are fresh, like he’s still burning. Maybe he is. No, there’s no maybe about it. Zuko burns still. 

And all Iroh can do is be there and wait until it passes. 

The whole palace must hear the prince, but they are used to turning away and pretending not to see, not to hear, not to know. They are used to lying. It is the only way to survive this place. 

“They say he’s going to die.” 

The voice is soft through Zuko’s screams, but cuts clear as crystal.

Iroh turns to his niece. Just twelve years old and already so much older. He cannot bring himself to trust her, not since he realized that Ozai found everything he wanted in the girl. They are one and the same, Ursa had confided. There is no hope for her. 

But that isn’t quite true. 

The princess is here, and though her voice is cool and her face impassive, there is still the tiniest fleck of concern somewhere in her golden eyes. 

Iroh holds out a hand to her. “We will not let that happen.”

The girl does not go to him, as mistrustful of him as he is of her. Anyone on Zuko’s side is against her, or so she’s been taught. Iroh wishes he had time to teach her otherwise. 

“If he doesn’t die, Father will kill him,” she says, simply stating the face. She meets Iroh’s eyes in a challenge, as though to say _What’re you going to do about it?_ “He’s wanted to for ages. He was just waiting for the excuse.”

“I’ve never known my brother need an excuse for anything,” says Iroh thinly. But, for once, Azula is telling the truth. 

If not now, then later. If Zuko survives this, there will something else he does not. If he stays—

He cannot stay. _They_ cannot stay. 

If Ozai needs an excuse, he will find one, and another and another, until Zuko’s stubborn fire finally gives out. 

_You do him no kindness by saving him_ . . . 

"Be still, Prince Zuko. Be still or you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Like he’s not already—”

“Azula, please.” 

The princess huffs but does not argue. 

Iroh does what he can to sooth the boy, acting as though this is a normal moment, a normal fever or the aftermath of a normal altercation with Ozai. So many times he has sat with Zuko on the edge and given the prince the safety to be a child. He knows the motions, what works, what doesn’t. It has never been like this before. 

Zuko craves touch, hungers for it as though starving, but now he reacts to every contact as though Iroh’s fingers are flaming. He writhes away from Iroh, from the bed, even the air itself seems to be a torment. The one eye strong enough to open is squeezed shut again.

All Iroh can do is be here and let the prince know he isn’t alone. It is not enough. Even when Zuko falls still once more, it is not through peace or comfort, only exhaustion. Iroh can already tell this will become a regular pattern throughout their near future.

_No kindness—_

For one horrible moment, Iroh wonders if perhaps Ozai was telling the truth, that this _is_ worse than death, than maybe it _would_ be better to let Zuko—

“You should take him away.” At any other moment, the princess’s words would’ve been soft and insidious, a snake’s suggestion, but Azula’s voice is different now. Both small and strong, and when Iroh turns to look at her there is a brightness in her eyes that he has never seen in the princess before.

Tears. 

Of course, they do not fall. Her hands are clenched into fists at her side, and she is breathing heavily, almost as raggedly as her brother. Though the thread has been stretched too far for too long, to the brink of snapping, the children loved each other once and love each other still. Even if it’s only safe to do so in silence and snide remarks.

No matter what Azula says, she does not want to watch her brother die.

She glares up at Iroh, a fierce little thing, ready to fight. “If you want to save him, you have to leave.”

“You think your father would stand aside and let me take him? If I thought that could possibly end in anything other than fire, I would’ve done it years ago.”

Angry pink colours Azula’s cheeks and she rolls her eyes. “He'd let you if it was his idea.” Then, under her breath, “ _Dummy.”_

There is no-one in the Fire Nation who knows Ozai the way Azula does. They are one and the same and, for once, that puts them at the advantage. 

Iroh goes to his niece. “Tell me.” 

Azula smiles. 


	2. Forced Forwards

They are three weeks on the water and Zuko still hasn’t stirred. Iroh is grateful for it. With the prince asleep, it’s easy to pretend that everything is fine and under control. The cobbled-together crew have found their feet on this strange purposeless vessel; the cabins are small to the point of compact, but there has been time enough to make it home with soft, flickering candles, and the few relics that have traveled with Iroh from the front to the palace to the ship. 

It is a military vessel, battered and bruised and on its last legs, just like the rest of them, but Iroh’s mission is to make it cozy for when his nephew awakens. 

_When_ , not if. Never if. 

Iroh keeps his hope pressed to his heart and nurtures it like his own flame. 

Zuko will survive. He will awaken. His eyes _will_ open. 

The first few weeks, the prince is kept asleep for his own good. The boy needs rest, Iroh insisted. His body is only small, and has been through so much. His heart has already been broken too many times, and Iroh is afraid of the next. Besides, when was the last time Zuko was allowed to sleep as needed? His life has been filled with the brutally early mornings and cruelly late nights befitting a failing prince, as ordered by Ozai and upheld by the chosen trainers. Men Iroh would never let within an inch of a child, were it up to him. 

It is good for Zuko to rest, even like this. 

Iroh sits and watches the peace on the uncovered half of his nephew’s face. Agni only knows what’s going on beneath those bandages. Agni and the healer, anyway. Though ‘healer’ is a very generous term for the man Iroh had to bribe with twice as much as any of the others. Needs must, desperate times, et cetera, but there is no point pretending that Tamai is anything other than a talented chef with an eye for ointments. Certainly nothing compared to the palace healers.

_Who might’ve been able to save Zuko’s eye if they hadn’t been specifically ordered to let the boy burn._

Iroh breathes through his anger. Another reason to keep Zuko asleep. Iroh is keenly aware that once the prince awakens, he must be nothing but the utmost calm. It doesn’t matter what Iroh thinks or feels or wants. Zuko must be priority. 

And Iroh is afraid of himself. 

In his quiet moments, he catches himself brooding, fantasizing about what he would do to Ozai if he were a stronger man, a braver man, a reckless man. Those fantasies fuel his fire, and if he doesn’t get out on the deck and release his flames, then the whole ship would burn. 

He has to be better before Zuko wakes up. 

There is no going back, no hope of sweet vengeance. They were lucky to get out alive, and that is all due to Azula. _Smart girl, sneaky girl, who knows how to wrap the Fire Lord tight around her little finger just long enough to save her brother._ The only direction is forwards and as far away from the Fire Nation as possible. 

So Iroh breathes and meditates, and forces his focus only on the immediate future, on the boy in the bed.

* * *

It starts with a whimper and a rustle of sheets. The smooth peace on the prince’s face is broken, though his eye remains shut. Instead of a restful sleep, the boy is in a fever-dream.

Firebenders do not burn easily, but Zuko’s forehead is a furnace. 

“What’s wrong with him?” The question is a stupid one, but it’s all Iroh has. Tamai shakes his head and shoos him out the room, face set grim. Afraid. 

That night, the tea is bitter and the Pai Sho fails to hold his attention. 

The next morning, Zuko is awake. 

Three thin pillows prop his thin body up, head lolling like it’s too heavy to support on fragile shoulders. His hair is long and lank, and the only colour in his deathly-white skin is a fever-pink flush. 

Tamai leaves as Iroh enters, exchanging one anxious look before disappearing gratefully. 

Iroh shuts the door quietly behind the healer and turns to his nephew.

Zuko’s breathing is shallow and harsh, and sounds like smoke damage. He doesn’t look up even as Iroh approaches, but the frightened flicker of his throat is a clear tell of awareness. 

“Good morning, Prince Zuko.” 

The boy twitches and struggles; cracked lips parting, reaching for a voice he left at home, panicking when he can’t find it to give the required response.

“Hush, it’s okay,” Iroh promises, kneeling by the prince’s bedside. “It’s just you and me. No-one else. You don’t need to—” He swallows before his own voice breaks. “—be afraid.”

Zuko’s single golden eye flicks doubtfully to meet his, unfocused and full of confusion. Iroh is almost glad the boy cannot speak, cannot beg for answers that don’t exist or ask questions that will only hurt him. He doesn’t need to. Shaking fingers rise to touch the edge of the yellowed bandage, and the prince flinches. 

“No.” Iroh reaches quickly for him as Zuko starts to pull frantically at the bindings. “You have to wait, you have to—” But Tamai’s skills did not even extend far enough to tie bandages properly. They fall apart in Zuko’s fingers.

It’s all Iroh can manage not to vomit. 

If Zuko has healed at all in the last month, it’s impossible to tell.

He should’ve waited, he thinks desperately. He should’ve taken the time to find someone more skillful. He should’ve fought to keep Zuko in the palace and kept begging for proper care. He should’ve tried to learn to tend to the boy’s wounds himself. He should’ve—

“Don’t touch it!”

But it’s already done. 

Zuko's fingers come away sticky, bloody. Tears well in his other eye.

“It’s still early days yet,” Iroh lies. “There is still time. You must be patient and let it heal.”

Neither time nor patience is something the young prince has much experience with. Injuries are common in the palace, either deliberate or accidental. Allowances are not given for healing. A prince must work through his pain else suffer further consequence. And a Firebender with only one working eye, much less a Firebender of Royal lineage, would certainly suffer. 

Zuko knows this. Even in his muggy, half-conscious, semi-drugged state, he knows this with a bone-deep understanding. The prince trembles. 

“He isn’t here,” Iroh tells him, making himself look at Zuko— _all_ of Zuko. “You’re far away and _safe_. You have time to rest and—”

“W—” Zuko coughs, choking on his own voice, clutching his chest like it’s breaking his ribs. But still he tries, just able to croak out, “Wh-ere a-am I?” 

_It doesn’t matter_ , Iroh wants to tell him. _Anywhere but the Fire Nation is a good thing_. 

But that’s not good enough. 

Because no matter what, no matter how many of Zuko’s thirteen years have been spent suffering, the prince’s love and loyalty to his country, his family, his _father_ are unwavering to a fault.

It will get the boy killed one day. 

“We will talk soon,” Iroh promises, laying a gentle hand on Zuko’s chest. His bones are as brittle as a bird’s, and it takes nothing to push the boy down. “You are safe, I am here, that is all you need to know in this moment.”

Zuko doesn’t believe him, and Iroh doesn’t blame him, but the prince has no fight left in him. 

His breath seeps out, and he turns his face away, closing his one good eye.

Iroh stays until Zuko is sleeping, and for a long while after. This journey, wherever they’re going, is going to be long and difficult but as long as he can keep Zuko moving forwards, maybe they’ll stand a chance of survival.

_Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how many chapters this will be or if there's gonna be a longer narrative, or if it'll just be a character study whenever I need a break from original fic XD I hope y'all enjoy whenever I throw words out!


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